


ask me no questions (i’ll tell you no lies)

by inabsolutes



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Adult Content, F/M, I'm Going to Hell, LOL THIS IS COMPLETELY OOC, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, One of the Most Fucked Things I’ve Ever Written, Other, in Japanese it’s yandandy, sorry i don’t make the rules, you’re going to get yandere!leon and like it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2020-05-20 08:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabsolutes/pseuds/inabsolutes
Summary: After all, who would know better about having a obsessed stalker than Galar’s number one Champ?....the new Champion’s got a big secret.implied! leon x female MC





	1. ask me no questions

**Author's Note:**

> hey so i read the fake pkmn swsh leaks and you better believe that i had a bunch of ideas for the champ— whether any of them are close to accurate or not is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> guess we’ll find out in november 
> 
> ————————
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: THIS STORY MAY INCLUDE MATERIAL THAT SOME MAY CONSIDER DISTURBING. 
> 
> VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

* * *

 

     Sometime a long time ago, two siblings played football amidst the setting sun.

_“Hey, big bro.”_

_The elder of the two siblings turned to face his brother. His eyebrows shot up._ _He watched his brother kick the ball from one foot to the other._ _“What’s up, Hop?”_

     “ _Does it….ever get easier?”_

_Leon cocked his head to the side. Hop had no knack for the game, and so often lost to his older brother. “Does… ’what’ ever get easier? Football?”_

_Hop paused, holding the black and white ball there underneath his foot. “I don’t know.”_

_“Does it ever get easier being you?”_

     Bright as the sky from that day, the stadium lights glint into Leon’s eyes.

    _“I mean, because you’re the greatest an’ all.”_

_Laughing carelessly, he took this opportunity to steal the ball from his younger brother. “What’re you talkin’ about, little man? It’s always easy to be me!”_

_“Hey! What?! No fair! You think you’re SLICK, don’t cha, Lee?”_

_“Haha! Can’t catch up?”_

_“No, but I will…”_

     The harsh glare grows even brighter with the focus of cameras and TV crews, making the edges of Leon’s memories blur and lose focus. Everything from this moment on will be recorded in between flashes of blinding light and camera shutters.

      It’s _too late_ for any regrets.

      Now the scene is set. Picture it: The Galar Champion, just before his title match against a foreign challenger, hopelessly outclassed. Striding onto the field, he greets the crowd with a wave of his hand, then a fist, held high in the air. It is a merciless, purposeful walk that always seemed to say:

      _Hello, world. Your shining hero— is here!_

      Leon rubs the toe of his shoe into the AstroTurf, and his feline eyes scan the shrieking crowd, who now chant his name with fevered intensity. His eyes soon finish their surveillance, and come to rest on his brother and his group of new friends. In the stadium bleachers sits Sonia, his childhood friend, his younger brother, Hop, and his group of new rivals, pretty girls like Marnie and you among them.

     But somehow his eyes always ended on your face.  _You_ , the new challenger from his hometown, were often at the forefront of his mind. The rookie upstart who took a shine to the Dynamax system. A natural talent, just like his previous rival, Sonia.

     A feeling of dread settles in the pit of his stomach, but he doesn’t dwell on these thoughts for too long. The battle’s already begun.

     The first half of the battle had been going well, half of his opponent’s party easily KO’ed by poorly thought out type matchups and strategy. His opponent then brings out a certain Pokemon, and his confidence shatters.

     _What? A Blastoise?_

     A commentator notes: _This is just like that time where the Champion almost lost at the Pokemon League half a decade ago!_

  Leon’s pupils constrict with panic. _No. Not today._

     Memories he never wanted to remember again come flooding back to him: his humiliating near loss to Sonia some odd years ago at the League. Then the news reports of your current streak of wins at gyms all over the region. Finally, the looming threat of the evil Team Yell over the Galar region—

     His brother’s words come back to him. 

     “I’ll catch up _once you mess up.”_

     Blocking out all the sound, above the shrieking crowd, he orders his Dynamaxed Charizard to use its ultimate move.

    _Blast Burn._

      _Isn’t that a little overkill?_ a commentator remarks. It was overkill—but it was an excellent choice for anyone who wanted to send a message, loud and clear:

     _Don’t screw around with me._

     He wouldn't risk losing his championship title. Not at a time like this. Not when all the world’s eyes were looking to this battle, to their Champion for reassurance.

     The arena erupts in a storm of smoke and fire. But then he hears roars from the crowd. _Another flawless victory from Champion Leon!_

     His flawless record safe for now, Leon smiles at the crowd. He looks up into the stadium gratefully, bitterly. You smile down at him, the uneasiness in your lips eased into a genuine expression of relief.

     _You shine because you succeed when the whole world expects you to fail._

     The match concludes with the Champion’s slight bow, and a winning smile to the crowd. Your group gets up, everyone in it giving him a standing ovation. But as Leon walks off field, amidst the cheers and applause, that voice asks even now:

       _Why were you so incapable?_

      Sonia’s eyes are now replaced by your own; they burn into the back of his skull. They ask:

       _Why ARE you so incapable?_

 

* * *

 

     Outside the Pokemon League, a certain INTERPOL agent was fighting a different sort of battle with the crowd that had gathered to watch Leon. They had gathered  into a teeming mob, and they spilled from the bleacher seats into the main lobby of the coliseum, and around the stadium exit, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Champion. Agent Looker too had hoped that he would see the Galar Champion, but for an entirely different reason: he needed to gather more information on the villainous team, Team Yell, who had attempted to kidnap a young girl just weeks before his arrival.

     After squeezing and worming his way past the huddled, sweaty mass of human bodies, Looker finds his way backstage. However, no sooner does he make his way there before he’s blocked again, this time by a snappily dressed young woman with thick gold hoops, who Looker guessed was the Champion’s agent:

     She now sighs. “For the last time, without someone to vouch for you, I can’t let you see the Champion.”

     “ _Vouch_ for me?” Looker asks her. “I wasn’t aware that I needed someone to inform you of my trustworthiness.”

     The younger woman rolls her mascara lined eyes as she taps her Y-Comm. “Listen, I need something from you to show me you’re not some obsessed member of Leon’s fan club. Ever since Team Yell nearly kidnapped that girl Marnie, we’ve had to increase security...”

     Vexed, Looker then flashes his ID card at her, and the woman pales in response. “I am Agent Looker from the International Police. Will that authorization suffice?”

     In between her pursed lips, Leon’s agent admitted it would. The younger woman then demands, “My name is Oleana. What is this about?”

     “I have a couple of questions to ask the Galar Champion. He isn’t busy at the moment, is he?”

     Oleana turns her Y-Comm off, stands across from him, lets out a breath, looks down, and then looks up. “The Champion is _always_ busy, Detective. If it’s not that important, I can take a message…”

     “No!” Startled by the suddenness of his reply, the agent recoils, but Looker lowers his voice and quickly reiterates, “No-no-no, my good lady. This is in fact; very important, yes, yes, _very_ important indeed. I need to speak to the Champion in person.” 

     Unable to refuse his request, the woman leads him to Leon’s dressing room. After explaining the Champion’s tendency to sneak away, Oleana swiftly raps on his door.

     “Leon! There’s a man here who wants to ask you a few questions!”

     While they wait for a response, Looker’s eyes scan his surroundings. A glossy poster in the hallway behind him reads: _The sparkling hero of justice that’ll save us from evil—_

     “The glorious, shining hero of the Galar region’s story,” Looker reads off the poster. “By hero, are you by any chance referring to the Champion?”

      Distracted by his sudden question, she pauses, but then nods vehemently. “A fantastic, wonderful story is _infecting_ the Galar region...” Leon’s agent(?) recounts to herself, sighing dreamily. “A story that will soon spread all over the globe!”

     “All over the _globe?_ ” Looker asks, fighting back a scoff. With rhetoric like that, it was no wonder some became obsessed with the Pokemon trainers in Galar.

     The door opens quickly and a young man steps out. A pleasant voice then says:

     “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of such a thing?”

 

* * *

 

     “...no, I have not,” Looker admits, temporarily lost for words. “However, you must be...”

     Despite his exhausted, post-battle stupor, the young man smiles graciously and waves his hand to the side, brushing aside his cape and pointing up to the sky in his iconic gesture. 

     “Galar’s one and only Champion Leon, at your service!”

     Not at all contrary to his match performance, the figure of Champion Leon cut a striking image, especially in person. Not only did he tower over Looker (who was _not_ a short man), his white clothes were immaculate, his shoes unscuffed, his tan skin glowing. Not a raven-colored hair out of place on his head, which was odd despite his previous battle just an hour ago on a dusty stadium. He positively _shone._

     Looker then says, looking up at him, “But I know of you— Leon, the sparkling Champion with the remarkably flawless official record… Is that correct?”

     Leon nods, and a smile widens across his tawny-colored face. “You’re right, of course.” After apologizing for not seeing Looker earlier, the young man turns to his agent and scratches his facial hair. “A reporter?”

     “Not exactly,” Oleana admits, then glares at the older man, who shows Leon the same INTERPOL ID.

     “You’re a detective?” he asks, his pupils narrowing to read the ID card’s fine print. “What can I do for you?”

     Looker attempts to explain the nature of his investigation, but no sooner than the words “criminal investigation” and “Team Yell” come out of his mouth, did the Champion’s agent become immediately flabbergasted on Leon’s behalf: 

     “What are you SAYING?!” Oleana exclaims. “Leon has _nothing_ to do with that nonsense! Sir, you don’t have to listen to this, this, this charlatan....”

     Leon nods, but then smiles indulgently. The impact of Looker’s words had glanced off just as easily as he had been wearing armor. “Let the man finish, I want to hear what he has to say.”

     The older man attempts now to explain himself in full, about how Team Yell was quickly growing to be a regional menace, discouraging Trainers from challenging gyms and even dissuading them from scaling Victory Road, all in the name of their love for some girl trainer named Marnie. “Whatever you can contribute to the investigation on Team Yell would be a great help, Champion.” the detective concludes.

      _After all, who would know better about having an obsessed stalker than Galar’s number one Champ?_

     The young Champion takes a moment to take in what Looker’s said, the frown on his face deepening and intensifying his expression. “Say, your accent. You’re...” his expression lightens in the bat of an eyelash, “...from Galar, aren’t you?”

     Looker smiles in turn. “I am, yes.” _Astonishing he picked the accent up._

     “Why don’t we speak as friends?” he suddenly asks.

     “As opposed to...?”

     “Instead of this dreadful conversation we’re currently enjoying,” Leon replies, but Looker senses no ill will in his voice nor mannerisms. “You and I are from the same region, so we should be friends.” The same charming smile returns to his face, and Looker could see how everyone had become so enamored with the younger man— in addition to being very charming and extremely competent at Pokemon battling, Leon was quite the emotional chameleon.

     The Champion then admits that with his training, he had been slacking off on conducting his own investigation of Team Yell, but then points Looker in the direction of you and your friends. You would know more about Team Yell than he would, Leon points out. And he would be more than happy to give the agent _your_ contact information.

     Impressed with how forthcoming he had been with information and his own faults, Looker quickly decides it would be no good to intimidate Leon without proof, and thanks the Champion for taking time out of his busy schedule to see him after noting your contact info. Looker wasn’t sure Leon understood he had a higher jurisdiction than a common cop, anyhow.

     Contrite, his eyes downcast, Looker murmurs: “I apologize, Leon. You must be working very hard. It is very difficult to bear the burden of everyone’s hopes and dreams.”

     The younger man blinks. Then, his eyes glistening, he  adjusts his baseball cap to look down at the older man. Finally, Leon’s voice adopts an odd, wistful tone, as if it were touched by some intangible thing like sadness:

     “It’s a burden born of true love.”

     This prompts an odd reaction from Looker, who peers at him strangely. “Hmm… We appreciate your cooperation, in any case,” the older man then says, and takes his leave.

    After Agent Looker departs, the Champion excuses himself into his dressing room, citing emotional distress. In reality, Leon had felt his phone vibrating in his back pocket for the last twenty minutes, and now saw there was a total of 36(?!) outstanding messages, all from the same number. 

     When Leon closes the door behind him, he conceals his face behind the darkness of a closet door and immediately redials the number. First there is static, afterwards a high pitched voice says into the device:

     “ _Brrrzzzt. This is Team Yell moderator... bzzt.... speaking….”_

     After putting aside his initial annoyance, _why couldn’t you just text me?_ , Leon then clears his throat and his pitch deepens as he speaks into the voice modulator. “I’m _extremely_ unavailable right now, but you’ve been careless. This better be good.”

 

* * *

    

    Well, _shit._

    The situation was not good. Not at all.

     Not only had one of Team Yell’s members been captured, their anonymity was now compromised. One of the splinter cells placed in charge of finding strong Pokemon had been intercepted by a young woman and her friends. The public if not now, would soon know Team Yell was no anonymous club of Marnie obsessed stalker-fans, but a group with a more nefarious plan in mind.

      _The girl, Marnie,_ the Champion had said, _Did she discover you?_

     On the Y-Comm, the grunt looks downward. “It was a girl, but…! It wasn’t _our_ Marnie. No... no, she looks different.”

       _DESCRIBE her to me then,_ Leon nearly shouts into the voice modulator, frantically attempting damage control. _Could_ it be Sonia? She was more than capable of defeating a couple of low level grunts. No, she was too busy with her grandmother’s research. He knows who the girl is: your lie searching eyes rise to the top of his mind.

      Halfway through receiving a description of you, he dismisses the grunt. Frustrated, Leon then takes a seat at the lit vanity table, then, in a furious instant, he shoves the golden awards off his desk and wall. They dash to the floor.

     “Leon? Is everything alright in there?” Oleana calls out.

     He regains his composure. “Sure,” he says sheepishly. “Just training!”

     She sighs with relief and leaves him be. Adults were happy to turn a blind eye to any shortcomings, as long as they were getting something out of the deal. Even that nosy detective, who thought the real person he had kept cloaked so well under shield and sword would reveal itself with a little poking and prodding, had given up once his mask of respectability had been in place. Most people would. It was usually sufficient to let their intuitions follow them down a dead end. The good detective had looked just as ridiculous as an actor playing to an empty theater.

     Still, Leon was becoming sloppy, and would need to lie low for a couple of days to take any heat off his trail. After completing his daily check-in for his own social media pages, he opens a new tab in a private browser. The message board for Team Yell, Marnie’s fanclub, loads onto the screen.

     Provocative photos litter the fan page, along with her daily training plan and dietary habits. He isn’t interested in reading that, so Leon unscrews a fortified Fresh Water and begins to read through the fan club’s message board:

      _OMG MARNIE IS THE BEST!_

_[photo]_

_SO COOL!_

_FUTURE CHAMP!???_

_I bet she could take down the whole Elite Four and the Champ with one Pokemon!_

     At this, Leon rolls his golden eyes skyward. _Don’t make me throw up._

     This comment is enough to get under his skin, so he exits the browser window. Team Yell served a useful purpose— as long as they got in the way of trainers who were worth anything and stopped them from challenging Gyms, he would remain on top.

     But Leon still desperately needed a pick me up, (how could they think she was any good of a trainer?) so he revisits the favorited photos on his phone, flicking through each one until he found one of them he had in mind:

     Your eyes look up at him again, trapped and forever smiling behind camera paper. He takes a moment to gaze at the photo of you, taken secretly as you had emerged victorious from one of your latest gym battles.

     Truthfully, the Champion hated to share. It was enough he had to share every aspect of himself with the region and the world, so he had kept this photo to himself, so you could be his and his alone. He rubs the laminated paper between two pads of his fingertips.

     _Wow, how cute._

_Just what am I gonna do with you?_

    You didn’t smile often like that. If it had been on his timeline, he would’ve LIKED it, even if his agent advised against it.

     He hardly wanted others to see the photo, but your fan-page was small and he needed validation.

     Leon uploads the photo of you to your fan page and adds a comment underneath:

      _always beautiful_

_im in love ❤️_

_#perfect #princess #futureelite_

     You weren’t as popular as Marnie, but he rather liked it that way. There were never so many eyes on you, watching and leering and sullying you with their impure thoughts. He sits back in his padded chair and watches the comments and likes slowly pour in— it had been a good photo. An hour later, you comment on the post:

_YOU:_

_🥰_

_love u guys!!!_

     Leon almost laughs out loud. Even though you knew Team Yell had recently come under fire for their borderline obsessive behavior, you enjoyed checking in on your own fans once in a while. Just as he prepares to respond to your message, a different ringtone, this one a high, cheery jingle began to play from his phone. Hop was calling.

     He picks up immediately— Leon didn’t often call his younger brother when he was busy, a fact Hop and other family members often liked to remind him of. He always apologized, but it wasn’t his fault, not _really._ He wanted to keep his younger brother out of his affairs as much as possible— Hop could hardly keep a secret.

    After exchanging small talk with Hop, _hey, yeah, did you enjoy the battle, you did, that’s awesome,_ his brother then tells him something _interesting_ :

     “Oh, and! We’ve found out who the leader of Team Yell is!”

     Leon feigns disinterest, but leans forward in his chair. Hyper-Ade was quickly souring in the back of his throat. “Is that right, Hop.” he chuckles, his tone _breezy, casual._

     “Yeah! Can you believe it, she said that they’ve been framing Marnie all this time!” Hop says. His pitch then lowers to a conspiratorial (brotherly) whisper. “Marnie’s not really the one who’s been intimidating and blacklisting trainers— Team Yell is!” His brother then tells Leon that you told him to keep it a secret, but he adds: “...but there’s no way we can lose if we have a strong trainer like you fighting by our side! Right, Lee?”

     He laughs. _Right._

    “Hop? Are you paying attention? The max raid battle is about to start!” you say now. A brief silence. You must be checking Caller ID. Your voice then becomes oddly cagey: “Hop, you didn’t tell me you put Leon on the phone—“

    The cry of a Dynamaxed Pokemon abruptly cuts off the call. Leon takes this opportunity to finish checking his PMs before his brother has the time to call again. He opens the last two notifications in his inbox:

    _Re: message to admin_

_From: anonymousglory_

_ive found u out_

    _Re: re: message to admin_

_From: anonymousglory_

_ur a fraud_

   Leon becomes silent, quietly considering the implications of their messages. Keys resume clacking:

     _Re: re: re: message to admin_

      _From: admin_

_k LOL_

     He peers down at his feet. Knocked onto the ground from his outburst was Professor Magnolia’s report of one of Galar’s legendary Pokemon. Smirking, Leon then types:

     _see u soon?_

_:)_

 


	2. liar dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When I am good, I am very good, but when I am bad, I am better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, so I ate tons of shit and was completely wrong about SWSH’s plot. buuuuuuuut i needed a break from writing *serious* plot stuff for my other stories. enjoy this self-indulgent trash masterpiece I guess? 
> 
> blah blah blah, this is alternate universe! Leon where his personality consists of more than ‘lol I get lost all the time and this one annoying trait counts as a huge character flaw’

 

* * *

 

     “It’s much better being up under the stars when it’s dark.” you say, peering up at the sky on top of Rose Tower.

     Leon flashes you a brilliant smile, all teeth. “Naturally.”

     You smile at him from under your mask of an expression and you’re  _definitely_ not wearing a bra. Your nipples pop underneath the sheer fabric of your shirt and you’re cold outside, dancing with him on top of Rose Tower but you don’t make an effort to cover up.

      He dubbed it the anniversary of his death, but _you_ don’t know that. After Leon had caught Eternatus on top of Rose Tower, things had never been quite the same. Something like a black cloud always hung over his thoughts... especially when you drew near. He attributed it to the legendary dragon’s instinctual dislike of the heroine destined to slay it.

     “Are you okay, Leon?” you say, while you lay your head on his chest. You seem to be noticing something is wrong. You’re very good at doing that.  


      The roar of the dragon screams simulaneously: _I want to crush her completely to pieces. I want to devour her whole. You want to, too, don’t you?_ _When you were on that pitch..._

_...didn’t you feel the same way?_

“Just a bit of a migraine,” he laughs your concern off. “Seem to be getting them more and more these days! But don’t you worry. Your Champion is right as rain.”

      You frown and push away from him. “I don’t like when you lie,” you say. He curses himself for not being able to conceal Eternatus from you as easily as he’d like, curses himself for his utter lack of tact, curses himself for your head not being against his body again.

      “Blast, I’m sorry.” Leon clutches the place where his heart should be in a dramatic display of sympathy. “I did a cock-up job. Do you still want to be here?”

      Your face softens, and your pink smile looks more attractive, more enticing than ever.

_If I was still a teenager, I’d follow my instincts and give you a kiss,_ he thinks.

      You cup his wounded cheek.“I don’t care if it’s a lie, as long as I can be with you.”

But now Leon’s not a teenager anymore, and he’s got lots more on his mind other than kissing.

      It’s your fault, absolutely. Those words got something in him really excited, almost like the eternal dragon was stirring and sharpening its teeth in anticipation, eager to take a _bite_ out of you.

       Leon leans in. “So... you’ll let me break you?”

 

* * *

  
      He was driven almost out of his mind.

      He had wanted, hoped for your first kiss, the first kiss the two of you were to share to be _blissful, sweet, happy._ Instead you had mocked him, teased him, BIT down on his lip while he kissed you, told you you’d bite him again _harder_ if he dared force himself on you again.  


      And then, Leon sees you, watches you from his window put your hands to yourself, moaning his name after he’s left you wanting and his pants get uncomfortably tight. His head is swirling with emotion, a black cloud of anger and hunger and want, you told me that you didn’t want me but you’re _bloody flicking your bean to a fantasy of me inside you?  
_

     And you’re mounting that damn pillow like it’ll somehow bring you to him and he could tear out every long hair from his skull watching you whimper and moan his name like he is salvation. His growing erection is pressing now against his boxers and he’d like to go to you and just relieve himself right there in plain day, right outside your room, and if you found him with his cock out, well, who was to say what could happen next?

After you’ve finished pleasing yourself, Leon watches you pour cold cereal into a plastic bowl, parading around in nothing but a loose white tee shirt and your soft cotton panties. He briefly fantasizes about putting bars on your windows— how could you feel comfortable, giving the whole of Wedgehurst a bloody show like that? A damn good _cocktease,_ you are.

     His gold eyes widen. As you turn around to face the open window, to make things worse yet, the shirt has his face _(_ _damn Rose for thinking that was a good idea_ _)_ printed across the front. Are you a sadist? Do you  like to watch him _suffer?_ How can a single young woman go about braless, wearing only a shirt with some arrogant prick’s face on it?

(Leon says this, fully prideful that you  would have a shirt with _his_ face printed on it.)

       The next night, he stole into your room in Wedgehurst. Crude? Yes. Uncouth, uncivilized? Even more. It wasn’t his fault your mother and brother were so needlessly trusting,  _oh, Leon, why of course you can come in, do you want a spot of tea while you’re here? Yes, she’s went out, but if you need to leave anything for her, her room is the first on the left—_

Bloody hell. He thought he’d never get away. But he did, and with the best prize imaginable.

Out of his backpack, he then brings out a white uniform labeled 227, still  sweaty and  filthy and _gloriously_ full of your musky, feminine scent from a hard day’s work training. He presses it to his face and breathes in. It was so undeniably you, and it filled his lungs with such a craving that he couldn’t ignore it. You wouldn’t miss one old uniform. Hell, you’d  thank him for taking something like _that_ off your hands. 

He remembers the sensation of your breasts pressing against him:  _Why do we have to compete like this,_ you had said, hugging him tightly, refusing to fight him.  _I don’t want to play the audience’s game. If they’re cruel, then I don’t want to be a part of it._

The champion lets out a cruel halting laugh that sounds harsh even to his own ears. You are too good for everyone in this place, including him. That’s why he  _needed_ to protect you. 

       He turns on the telly and some late night news show is rebroadcasting his match with Wallace. Truthfully, late night television shows to the Galar champion never held much appeal, even as the people around the globe sung his praises. Leon didn’t find them extremely funny, very entertaining, or particularly insightful, and the only time he ever turned them on was for background noise.  


     Their praise was simply what he was due. He was the world’s Champion and their praise was owed him as gratitude for all the good deeds he’s done. All of the things he’s sacrificed. 

But that is fine now. That is what he needs. In the privacy of his room, he pulls down his shorts, then leggings, then briefs, and smells your uniform, pressing his nose to the damp crotch of your shorts. The smell - _that smell!_ \- drives him wild and in the next instant he’s furiously rubbing the shorts against the engorged head of his cock, covering his eyes as he moans and slides the fabric up and down the shaft of his erect penis.  
   
      _Please, Leon, I promise, promise, promise that I’ll be good enough next time._

Your words you had whimpered last night wash over him, adding to the wave of pleasure mounting in his brain.

_Just be a little more rough with me, please? I won’t learn my lesson if you’re not a little... little rough with me—_

He grimaces as he feels himself lose all control, rubbing the moist, warm fabric against the shaft of his hard brown cock until it’s ruddy and raw, until the top layer of skin has been painfully torn away from the  friction of him moving your shorts and then his hand against his cock. He couldn’t stop, he still  ached when he rubbed his nose in it, inhaled the fabric’s scent when it was still flush with moisture and he curses himself for not stealing at least a pair of underwear too, next time he’d have  _both_ to add to his collection. 

_Be careful what you wish for... I can also be a bit cruel, remember? But that’s okay, because you want me, don’t you? Whatever I give you, you’ll be naturally be grateful for it, right?_

Amidst the audience’s raucous cheers and unwarranted applause, he comes inside your shorts, once, and then again as he thinks of your soft breasts and tight cunt, your body heaving as you whimpered his name. 

Folding your shorts into a neat square, he knew then that he was going to die if he didn’t get to have you, or at least make a good step towards having you. 

The whole world loved him. Who was to say you shouldn’t be the same way?

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes and Comments
> 
> 1\. Yes, I do think Eternatus!Leon would’ve made for a better story than the one we got. Fight me in IRL if you disagree. UB01 Lusamine was dope. 
> 
> 2\. Feel free to leave prompts in the comments for villain!Leon if you want. No guarantee I’ll get to them, but I’ll try.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> 1\. For those that don’t know, you can find the FAKE swsh leaks on YT/4chan. Basically our Champ’s the head honcho of an evil fanclub, among his _massive_ inferiority complex and other things. EDIT: This would’ve made a better story and yes I am still crying about it.
> 
> 2\. Leon and Hop are playing European football in the intro. Or “soccer” for those of us in the US.
> 
> 3\. Agent Looker’s based off of David Tennant’s Doctor (from the Doctor Who series), so I thought it fitting to place his area of origin in the Galar region.


End file.
